


I'll Drive You

by minyoungis



Series: BTS [4]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Banter, Coffee, Comfort, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, Late Nights, Literal Sleeping Together, Mornings, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles, Work, alcohol mention, but nothing explicit, hospital mention, hospital residency, idolverse, oh mentions of sex and quickies, taking care, yoongi driving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27041884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minyoungis/pseuds/minyoungis
Summary: The shaky beginning and abrupt end of an incredible, two week long system where Yoongi drives you to and from your residency at the hospital during his band break.Ft. one Min Holly.
Relationships: Min Yoongi | Suga/Reader
Series: BTS [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973482
Kudos: 39





	I'll Drive You

**Author's Note:**

> i have spent far too long in this fic talking about yoongi's hands

Your bag seems to weigh you down as you slowly climb out of the car, coat flapping against the sides of your thighs. With a huff, you transfer it to your left hand as you trudge up to the door, blindly reaching inside it for the house keys.

The foyer light is still on despite the fact that it’s nearing 10 PM, and as you unlace your shoes and place them on the rack, you can hear the faint noise of the television coming from the living room.

With a sigh, you make your way further into the house, gently massaging your temple in a vain effort to get rid of the headache that’s been mounting for the last couple of hours.

You’re too tired to admonish him for staying up and waiting for you to return from the hospital for the third time this week, but you feel like you should still say _something._ He’s supposed to be on holiday, for fuck’s sake. You wouldn’t dream of trying to get him to stop working hard during the day, knowing that it’s as natural as breathing when it comes to his production regardless of whether the company’s given the band a twenty day break or not, but the fact that he puts off sleep until you come back home simultaneously irks and flatters you, all in all making you feel like you just have one more thing to deal with at the end of every day.

You’re in for a surprise, though, as you enter the living room thinking all these hard thoughts only to see a gently snoring Yoongi asleep on the couch, spectacles precariously positioned on the bridge of his nose. Evidently fallen asleep in the middle of a show, he’s got his knees folded in, tucked tightly into his chest. One of his elbows is resting on the couch arm, hand propping up his tilted head, and the other is resting on Holly’s similarly asleep frame that’s pressed against his thigh.

Quiet as you can, you walk towards the table, picking up the remote to switch off the sitcom that’s playing in the background, and turn around to survey the scene in front of you. You see Holly twitch at the sound of your feet scuffing on the floor and before you can shush him, he’s awake, softly yelping and wriggling out from under Yoongi’s hand to jump down from the couch and excitedly bound to you.

Dropping your bag, you bend down to pick him up, nervously shooting a glance at the miraculously still asleep man in front of you. Pacifying Holly, you decide to try getting Yoongi to bed if he’s still dozing here when you get out of your shower.

As delicately as possible, you deposit the now-quiet dog back in his place on the couch, fondly watching as he wiggles under Yoongi’s splayed out hand, and deftly take off the skewed glasses, folding and placing them on the centre table. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake up.

The torrent of warm water hitting your sore muscles simultaneously freshens and further tires you, leaving you in a better mood but all the more eager to go to bed. Dressed in pyjamas, you step out of the bathroom, ready to get Yoongi and fall asleep, when you stop short as you see the man himself sat on the edge of the mattress, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, eyes threatening to shut but steady gaze trained on you.

“Welcome home,” he blearily says with a kind smile.

You walk towards him, halting once you reach the bed and standing in between his knees. He lets go of the blanket, opting to tug you closer by the waist and pressing his face to your abdomen, as you let yourself rest your arms on his shoulders, leaning your weight on his body.

“How was your day?” he asks, voice muffled by your t-shirt.

“Hmm, the usual. You?”

“Good, good. Dinner?” he asks, pulling away slightly, probably realising that if you both don’t get to bed soon, you’ll end up falling asleep while standing.

“I ate at the hospital cafeteria.”

“Food still shit?”

“Still shit,” you confirm with a sluggish nod.

He sighs a bit, standing up without releasing his hold on you, pulling your head into his chest. You deeply inhale, feeling calmer with every passing second, snuggling into his warmth.

You haven’t had a chance to enjoy more than a couple of minutes with him at a time, the last few days having been extremely busy at the hospital. When your professor had told you that a residency would be hectic, you didn’t know that that was code for _really fucking exhausting_. Every morning, you’ve been leaving before Yoongi wakes up fully, with only a fleeting goodbye kiss to sustain you the entire day, and whenever you return, he’s either too busy composing or he’s fallen asleep. The few days he actually _is_ awake and waiting for you, you’re both too tired to spend anytime together and end up going straight to bed.

“I miss you,” you mutter, weight of the past week crashing into you as your shoulders slump even more in his embrace.

You feel his arms tightening around your waist and a brush of lips on the top of your head.

“I’m right here,” he gently teases, making you let out a huff.

You can tell that he’s trying to be optimistic, to keep you afloat, but he isn’t quite able to hide the downward inflection of his voice, betraying his own frustration with the situation.

“You know what I mean,” you whine.

He doesn’t reply, probably realising that there’s really nothing he can say that’ll make this state of affairs suck less.

You let out a loud yawn, jaw clicking, and he pulls away with a chuckle. “C'mon, miss doctor. Sleep time,” he briskly ushers, or as briskly as he can when he’s fighting a yawn himself.

“Not a doctor yet,” you mumble sleepily as you let him tuck you in, curling in on your side and sighing in contentment as you feel him climb under the covers behind you, moulding his frame to yours, legs tangled and arm thrown across your waist.

You’ve almost fallen asleep, comfortable in the warmth he provides and his slow, steady breath hitting the back of your neck, when you feel rather than hear him say, “I could drop you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Not registering his words at first, you simply hum in acknowledgement that he said anything at all. Encouraged, he continues. “I’m at home anyway, and it’s not like I have a schedule.”

You feel his deep voice, throat scratchy with tiredness. In the middle of your haze, you confusedly ask, “How will I get back, then?”

“I’ll come pick you up,” the simple reply promptly comes. You let out a little, amused huff, which is the closest you can manage to a snort in your current state.

“No, I’m serious. I can be your chauffeur for the next two weeks, we’ll have car dates.”

This time, you really do snort. “Romantic,” you dryly utter, knowing very well that when 7 AM comes around, Yoongi will be out like a light, just like he is every morning.

You feel a gentle, half-hearted pinch on your waist as he says, “Just think about it. No driving to and from the hospital. Maybe you can eat something more than an apple for breakfast in the car. And all your colleagues can get jealous watching me wait for you outside at the end of the day.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just doing this to boost your own ego?” you sleepily giggle.

“It’s a win-win scenario. You get a driver, I get my superiority complex fix.”

Sluggishly turning around in his arms, you stick your head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, not at all taking this conversation seriously. “At least you’re self aware,” you pointedly say.

Feeling his breath fanning over your head, you hear him implore, “C'mon, just let me drive you.”

Nuzzling further into his warmth, seconds away from slipping into blissful oblivion and knowing fully well that nothing concrete is going to come from this conversation, you reply obligingly, “Okay, Yoongi.”

* * *

The 6:30 AM alarm rouses you from the depths of sleep and the first thing you register is the lack of warmth next to you. Drowsily muting the decidedly inglorious sound of _Morning Glory_ from your phone, you reach out a blind, searching arm, only to come up empty handed.

Smelling caffeine through the open door, you stop your pursuit and sit up, suddenly remembering the previous nights’, mostly one sided, conversation.

He can’t be serious.

Carefully stepping around Holly, who’s sleeping on the dog bed, you trudge to the kitchen to see Yoongi leaning against the counter, pouring hot coffee from the pot into a large thermos. He looks only slightly more awake than you, despite having been out of bed for a longer time if the lukewarmth of the sheets is anything to go by.

Feeling partly surprised, partly exasperated and completely enamoured by the lengths to which this man in front of you is going to, still slightly hazy with sleep, your mouth morphs from an _O_ to a dopey smile, moving closer to him and making to accept the thermos once it’s been filled.

Like he’s just realised you’re there, his eyes refocus, looking at your hand confusedly before his eyebrows straighten out in realisation.

Voice hoarse but deadpan, he says, “Oh, this one’s for me. Yours is there.”

Quizzically, you look in the direction he’s indicated with a tilt of his head, anticipating another thermos like the one he’s just finished filling, only to find a white mug with ‘ _You’ve Made A VAS DEFERENS In My Life!_ ’ printed in shocking red, disastrous Comic Sans font. You hadn’t expected to see the gag cup you had bought him for your one year anniversary staring back at you this morning, but here you are.

Gaping in simultaneous amusement and indignation, you turn towards him. Yoongi has a deeply content expression as he keeps his eyes closed, sipping from the flask in his hand, looking for all he’s worth like a patient in pain who’s just been administered morphine. Before you can say anything, he opens his eyes, looking slightly more awake.

“Don’t you need to get changed and packed?” he asks. “We have to leave in twenty minutes.”

Then he promptly ruins the effect by letting out a yawn, sound amplified by the bottle that he had just stuck his face into for another sip.

Squinting and taking a sip of caffeine from your delightfully disgusting mug, you enquire, “Are you sure you want to do this? I can just drive myself, it isn’t a big deal.”

With a shrug, he replies after swallowing what looks like an unhealthy amount of coffee, “I’m awake, amn’t I?”

“Yes, but for how long?”

With speed and agility that surprises you, he sets his thermos down before turning you around towards the door of the kitchen, palms on your shoulders. Giving you a tiny pinch on your hip and marching you to the door, he says in a faux-annoyed voice, “You can be a smart ass in the car, now scram.”

Bemused, you change and emerge from the room with your bag, coat in hand. Re-entering the kitchen, you see Yoongi putting the lid onto a Tupperware.

“This is a complementary service, then?” you ask, thoroughly engaged by how seriously he’s taking this.

Shaking his head, he gestures you closer and drops the box into your bag, saying, “Oh, no. You’ll be paying.”

You accept the wax paper wrapped sandwich that he hands you with a grateful smile as you tease, “You can’t possibly want more money. If you’re going bankrupt, I’m breaking up with you.”

Disregarding your empty proclamation, he drops his empty thermos in the sink before checking that Holly’s food and water bowls are filled and ushering you towards the front door, ensuring that you’ve got your bag in one hand, breakfast in the other and coat slung over the crook of your elbow. “Whoever said anything about money?” he asks with a wink, sliding his feet into his old-man sandals and taking the car keys from the bowl atop the shoe stand.

You cast an appraising look at his plain black t-shirt and flannel pyjamas, looking at him pointedly. Rolling his eyes, he grabs your hand that’s holding the sandwich and marches the both of you out while saying, “That coffee can only sustain me for so long. Once I’m back, I’m going straight to bed.”

“You literally drank a whole litre just now, I don’t see how you’re going to manage that,” you sceptically state, climbing into the passenger seat, only for Yoongi to shush you as he sticks the keys into the ignition and encourages, “Eat up now, before it gets cold.”

Snorting, you tune the radio to the station you prefer every morning and take a bite of the sandwich, immediately realising how much better it is than the apple that you usually eat while driving. He catches your pleased smile, flashing you a soft grin before he focuses on the road again.

“Good?” he asks, changing gears.

“So good. I’ll drop you a five star rating.”

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

You have what may just be the best morning drive to work you’ve ever experienced, even the too loud and too cheery voice of the RJ seeming bearable when Yoongi’s in the car next to you. Of course, it’s an added bonus that you get to ogle his hands on the steering wheel, a fact that isn’t lost on him as he teases you for it when he finally pulls up outside the hospital, saying, “Would you like a picture? A simple Google search should throw up what you’re looking for.”

Staunchly, a little disappointed that the ride hadn’t lasted a little longer, you reply with a sniff, “And what is it that you think I am looking for?”

Leaning over the centre console, intentions perfectly clear, he smirks and airily says, “Oh, you know, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

Chortling, you move towards him as well, and with a quick kiss and a deeply grateful ‘ _Thank you!_ ’ muttered against his lips, you skip out of the car, feeling more uplifted and calm than the last four days combined.

 _I could get used to this_ , you think, punching in and entering the building.

* * *

You could drop to the floor instantly as you walk into the room where all the residents keep their bags during the day. Final rounds are always the most exhausting and you’re more than ready to go home, feeling tired but satisfied. You’re still thinking about the last patient whose chart you had signed over to the night shift, the other residents around you similarly silent as they go about leaving, when your phone begins to vibrate in your coat pocket.

 _Min Yoongi_ , the caller ID reads.

With a jolt, you feel a little better at remembering the prospect of not having to drive back home, and accept the call, tucking your phone between your ear and shoulder as you drop your scrubs in the basket.

“Hey, I’m done. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“I have food with me.”

“Three minutes,” you amend with a jaded grin he can’t see but is surely aware of, going by the deep chuckle you hear.

Hanging up, you hasten your checking out process, leaving the room with a ‘ _Night!_ ’ that begets you a couple of tired grunts in response from the people still left inside.

You shuffle out of the building and immediately spot the sleek black sedan parked on the opposite side of the road. Through the tinted windows, under the streetlight right above the car, you can just about make out a stooped silhouette.

In moments, you’re sat in the passenger seat, bag in the back, head resting on the cool leather and eyes slipping shut as your body sinks with exhaustion and you let out a soft sigh in simultaneous comfort and tiredness. You feel a heavy paper bag being gently set on your lap and very nearly moan out loud as long, dexterous fingers come up to soothingly massage the side of your neck. Opening your eyes, you see Yoongi with a kind but worried smile on his face.

“You good?” he asks, palm now resting, solid and comforting on your shoulder.

“Better now,” you reply with a grateful smile, taking a moment to deeply inhale the delicious smell that’s coming from the cover on your lap, suddenly realising how hungry you are.

“Let’s get you home,” he says, dropping his hand down to the gear stick. You turn up the radio a bit so the lo-fi beats get a little louder, settling you, and eagerly take out the box and spoon from the bag.

“How was lunch?” Yoongi softly asks, breaking the silence in the car that’s only punctuated by your chewing.

“So good. Hyejin wanted to know how I made it,” you say along with a thumbs up, swallowing a large mouthful.

Grinning, Yoongi asks, “What did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d send the recipe. So that means you should probably send _me_ the recipe.”

“I’ll do that,” he chuckles, pulling into the driveway as you close the empty box, feeling drowsy now that you have some food in your system.

Thirty minutes later see you in bed, freshly showered, head cushioned by Yoongi’s thigh as he’s sat up against the headboard using his phone, Holly curled next to you with his fur slightly tickling your nose. You’re stuck in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness, just floating along, not particularly registering anything, and you sleepily mumble into Holly’s dog-shampoo smelling head, “This was a good idea.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his mindless stroking of your hair and just replies with a deep, satisfied hum and a smug ‘ _Told you so_.’

You fall asleep that night almost peacefully, a single car ride with Yoongi and a good meal having managed to wind you down more than has been possible in a long time as you easily allow yourself to slip in his reassuring embrace.

* * *

The next few days are absolute bliss, at least in comparison to the months of residency you’ve already had, and you hardly realise two weeks are over, only remembering when Yoongi hands you your customary Vas Deferens coffee cup one morning with a grin and a ‘ _One last time_.’

“One last what?” you ask, still sluggish. Yoongi’s become great at this whole waking up early thing, nowadays needing only three-fourth of a thermos full of caffeine to start feeling truly awake, but you still struggle with it on occasion, particularly after comparatively later nights.

“Break’s over today,” he says, turning towards the stove to fire it up, pan in hand ready to be heated.

Checking the date on your phone, you see that your blissful period in heaven is, in fact, over. You have to resist the urge to whine in disappointment, but your heavy silence seems to be answer enough as he turns around and fondly, tenderly smiles at your thinly veiled pout.

Making sure the stove isn’t on high, he gives the pancake mix one last whisk before wiping his hands on a towel and making his way towards your frame that’s sat cross legged atop the granite counter.

You’re drinking the final dregs that you can extract from your cup, the taste of sugar and coffee strong on your lips and tongue, when Yoongi stops right in front of you, gently taking the cup from your grip and winding your fingers in his instead.

“I could always ask the company for a driver for you, if you want?”

Leaning forward, you stick your face into the crook of his neck and shake your head in response.

“Not the same,” you mumble. You’ve always been a little loose-lipped and clingy in the mornings. Regular Y/N would rush to explain that they’ll get over it, that it isn’t a big deal, that Yoongi being back in studio is exciting and they want nothing more than for him to go back to properly doing the job he loves so much. But sleepy Y/N has no qualms about being vulnerable. Either way, you know that Yoongi’s perfectly aware of everything that you haven’t verbalised.

Not letting you stay in your hiding nook in peace, he annoyingly bounces his shoulder up repeatedly, making you raise your head and catch his eye.

“Maybe I should get BigHit to deliver lunch to you at the hospital everyday.”

Snorting, you reply, “Yeah, everybody’ll love that. No, now that I’ve seen how great the alternative to cafeteria food is, I think I’ll try out some of your recipes whenever I can.”

He looks pleased at that, obviously not having anticipated this outcome. You’ve always been big on the concept of self-care, but not particularly good at the execution.

These are a couple of things you’ve realised and learnt over the past two weeks.

Number 1 : Hospital food is shittier than you had thought it was, now that you’ve got a taste of somebody cooking fresh meals on the daily for you.

Number 2 : Min Yoongi sometimes puts sticky notes in your lunch that have profound things written on them like ‘ _Don’t cut up somebody if you can help it!_ ’ and ‘ _XOXO - Genius Min Suga_ ’, and on one memorable occasion that had you snorting in the canteen, ‘ _Went to the optician the other day and bumped into…everybody_ ’. When you had asked him why he didn’t do it everyday, he had answered that he didn’t want to become predictable.

Number 3 : You absolutely adore being pampered and eagerly look forward to the end of your workday just so you can receive that kind, _I’m about to shower you with so much love and comfort_ look when you enter the car along with your dinner care package that sometimes contains a tiny flask of whisky, just as a little treat, when you’ve had a particularly rough day. You’re also a fan of the quick, thirty second, single handed neck massage you get as soon as you clamber into the passenger seat, and if you strategically place some sexy moans in the middle, you manage to up it to a minute. He had caught onto what you were doing towards the end of the first week and had snorted, merely giving you a faux admonishing pinch before granting you a full two minutes while saying through his chuckles, “You could’ve just asked.”

Number 4 : Yoongi looks _really_ fucking attractive when he’s driving. You’re particularly biased towards seeing him at the wheel with a watch on, but you’ll settle just fine for just bracelets. He had realised this as well, and made it a point to wear his more expensive pieces, all while playfully muttering, “I knew you were with me just for my money,”, words a direct contrast to the half-amused half-bashful smile on his face whenever he caught sight of your unabashed staring, all your shame thrown out the window.

All in all, you can heartily confirm that it’s been one of his better ideas, maybe even the best one, but you wouldn’t admit it to him. Not when you’re awake at least.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you say, coffee kicking into your system. “We still live in the same house, we’ll just have to go back to our old system when both of us were working.”

The old system being video calls when he has to spend too long in studio or you have an extended day, and quickies in the shower when you actually, miraculously, manage to both be at home at the same time.

You know he misses working at the company. The set up he has at the home studio is rudimentary and even though he ends up giving the receptionist the slip and spending half of everyday in the Genius Lab, he’s been getting restless, _pining_ to see his ideas get translated into proper, ready-to-release tracks.

“Hmm,” he hums, knowing full well that you’re half trying to convince yourself.

You squeeze his hands in reassurance. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

Slightly assuaged that you aren’t still in your stressed-from-work headspace, he eases a little bit, squeezing back and leaning closer as he teasingly whispers, “Try not to miss me too much.”

“I think I’ll manage. Your music taste is kinda sad anyway,” you softly reply, covering his offended gasp as you kiss him, the tastes of strong coffee and minty toothpaste mingling.

Pulling away, you allow yourself to linger in his presence a little longer, knowing that these moments will soon become scarce and that the universe has been veritably spoiling you recently, and finally succeed in pushing him away and hopping off of the counter as you catch sight of the time. He sees it as well and rushes to get the pancakes done, shooing you out of the kitchen with an annoyed whine about you being a distraction.

Rolling your eyes, you obey, shouting behind your back, “Those better be the best damn pancakes I’ve ever eaten, Min Yoongi. Let’s end this shit with a bang.”

(You _do_ end it with a bang. But not exactly in the biblical sense.)

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!  
> find me on tumblr (where everything is cross posted) at @min-youngis :D


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